


Nothing So Kingly

by TheDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Era, Collars, Dom/sub, Leashes, M/M, Oral Sex, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: To the people of Camelot, Merlin is nothing more than King Arthur's pet sorcerer. To Arthur, he's everything.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 132
Collections: Merlin Tiny Reverse Bang





	Nothing So Kingly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cosmo Cat (magicalmysticalmanservant)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalmysticalmanservant/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[FAN ART] the king's pet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068245) by [Cosmo Cat (magicalmysticalmanservant)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalmysticalmanservant/pseuds/Cosmo%20Cat). 



> Written for the Merlin Tiny Reverse Bang held over at the Perilous Lands discord server.
> 
> I'm sorry this is so late! *hides in shame*

It's not a secret, this thing between him and Arthur. How can it be when Merlin spends most of his time at Arthur’s feet beside his throne with a golden collar high up on his neck and the attached leash looped around Arthur's wrist?

People look at them and see nothing but a king and his pet—a sorcerer in chains, willing to do whatever his master commands, blindly obedient and loyal to a fault. To them, Merlin is no more than a puppet with no mind of his own.

Whenever they catch sight of him, following along behind Arthur or in his lap or kneeling before him… they never fail to fill the throne room with disdainful stares and harsh words:

" _Depraved_ , is what it is."

"How can the king stand to be around _that_?"

"Imagine, letting yourself be treated like nothing more than an animal."

When phrases like those reach Arthur's ears, it never ends well. He wouldn't go so far as to physically harm anyone but more than once, Merlin has had to put a calming hand on his thigh when Arthur’s jaw strained a bit too much, when the grip he had on the armrests of his throne became too forceful. Merlin wishes he could protect Arthur from their grating words—put his hands over Arthur's ears so he never hears them.

So many people have spent their nights in the dungeon or placed in the stocks for daring to speak in such a way about the king's sorcerer that it's a wonder they don't know better by now.

No one understands their relationship. No one understands that Merlin is where he is of his own choosing. That to him, things are perfect exactly the way they are. That he _likes_ being on his knees for Arthur, _likes_ the collar around his neck, the leash in Arthur's hand. There's no better feeling in the world than knowing that Arthur has him— _all_ of him. Knowing that nothing anyone does will ever change that.

Merlin loves the way all of his worries melt away the moment he kneels at Arthur's feet, how this simple act of submission has the tension leaving his shoulders and his mind clearing.

The one thing he could do without, though, would be the soreness in his body when he's been on the floor for a bit too long—like right now. Merlin tries to inconspicuously shift his weight, hoping to find a more comfortable position. Arthur's eyes dart towards him the second he notices the movement, his gaze sweeping down from Merlin's face to his legs, then back up again.

Merlin shoots him a crooked smile that has Arthur narrowing his eyes. He raps his fingers on the armrest once, then again, before clearing his throat, immediately bringing all chatter to a halt.

"Audiences are over for the day," Arthur says, his voice carrying easily.

Clearly, Camelot's nobility is too obtuse to take a hint, because Arthur's eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline before people start scurrying out of the room, though not without sparing a glare for Merlin as though it's his fault their king won't give them the time of day.

Granted, this time it probably is. Arthur is always quick to notice Merlin's discomfort and even quicker to put a stop to it. But really, their petty squabbles have taken enough time out of Arthur's day already; he deserves a break after having spent so many hours trying to resolve their inane disputes.

When they're finally left alone, Merlin takes the opportunity to stretch out his arms and straighten his back, moaning softly when his spine pops. He shakes his head once to clear it, blinking his eyes in an attempt to fight back the sleepiness that's settled over him.

"You were so good today, pet," Arthur says, tugging softly on the leash. Bringing his hands back down to his sides, Merlin moves closer to Arthur and lays his head down on his lap, breathing in the scent of him. He shivers when Arthur's fingers run through his hair, scratching softly when they get to the base of his skull.

"Will I be getting a reward for my good behaviour, Sire?" he asks, tilting his face up and looking at Arthur from beneath his lashes. It's gratifying, the way Arthur's gaze darts down to his lips the moment Merlin runs his tongue over them. He's tempted to do it again, but before he has the chance, Arthur winds his hand around the leash and reels him in, pulling and tugging until Merlin is kneeling between his legs, face centimetres away from his crotch. The outline of his hard cock is visible through the loose cloth of his trousers and the smell of his arousal heady.

Merlin's mouth waters. He has to tighten his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out.

Reaching out is bad. When they're like this, putting his hands on Arthur without permission is unacceptable. Merlin elected to ignore the rule once before, thinking that surely, nothing would come from such a small show of disobedience, but he was quickly proven wrong. The strikes of the cane against his skin, the lines of fire it left in its wake—those had been exquisite.

But the part where he was kept on edge for hours, not permitted to come until the following night? That's an experience he'd prefer not to repeat.

"You'll get your reward," Arthur promises, tightening his grip on Merlin's hair so much that his scalp starts to prickle. Merlin can't help the whimper that leaves his lips. Leaning into Arthur's touch, Merlin allows his eyelids to slip shut. "But you have to do one last thing for me, first."

"Anything," Merlin tries to say, but all that comes out is a breathless moan. Arthur must understand, though, because he relinquishes his grip and undoes the laces of his trousers, pulling out his cock. The tip of it brushes against Merlin's cheekbone, leaving a trail of precome in its wake. Merlin opens his eyes and chases after it, wanting to take Arthur's cock into his mouth, utterly certain that that's what he's meant to do, but a sharp tug on the leash stops him.

"Make it slow," Arthur says, peering down at him through half-lidded eyes, his pupils already blown. "I don't want to come too soon."

That's all the permission Merlin needs. He leans forward again, and this time, Arthur doesn't hold him back. Merlin swirls his tongue around the head of Arthur's cock, running it up and down the length a few times, before finally taking it into his mouth.

The taste of it is intoxicating. Merlin almost chokes when he swallows Arthur's cock down too quickly, too greedily. Arthur pulls him back then, and presses a thumb to the corner of Merlin's lips, where they're spread widely around him.

"Good boy," he breathes, leaning his head back against the throne. "Go on, then. Make it good for me."

And Merlin does, taking to the task like he was born to it. He bobs his head slowly, slides the tip of his tongue against the head of Arthur's cock each time it leaves his mouth. The curls at the base tickle his nose whenever he swallows it down again. It’s only a few minutes before Arthur starts thrusting his hips forward, moans, demands, and praises flowing freely from his lips.

Merlin lets them wash over him, the words making him feel light as a feather. He clenches his hole around nothing, aching to be filled again, never mind that he's still open and wet with oil and Arthur's spend from this morning's tryst. Surely, Arthur can tell how desperate Merlin is, his own cock straining against his braies and no doubt leaving a stain on the front of them.

He's not above begging, but he holds himself back, tries his best to focus on _Arthur_ , on _Arthur's_ pleasure before his own. Because the sooner Merlin shows him just how obedient he is, how good he can be when he wants to, the sooner Arthur will reward him, and Arthur's rewards are _always_ worth the wait.

The next time Arthur thrusts his cock into Merlin's mouth, the tip of it goes deep into his throat, and Merlin's nose ends up in the nest of wiry hair at the base of Arthur's cock, his chin pressed up against Arthur's balls. It quickly becomes apparent that Arthur is losing control, his movements frantic with the need to come. Maybe if Merlin's lucky, Arthur will paint his face with it, mark him so that everyone sees, so that everyone _knows_ he belongs to Arthur and Arthur alone. He imagines being forced to walk through the corridors like that, the shame of everyone seeing him with Arthur's spend all over him making his cock twitch with want.

Arthur seems to have different ideas, however, because after a few more harsh thrusts that have Merlin heaving for breath, he pulls out his cock and yanks at the leash until Merlin climbs up onto his lap, more than a little out of it. Arthur kisses him like that, winding the fingers of one hand through Merlin's collar, wrapping his other arm around Merlin's waist to keep him steady.

"That was good," Arthur whispers against his lips when they finally break apart. "And you've been so very patient. It's only fitting that you receive your reward. Take off your clothes."

Merlin doesn't hesitate for a second before doing as he's told. Now that he's finally allowed to use his hands, he uses them to push his braies down his legs, right up until they get stuck in the bend of his knees. Arthur stops him before Merlin can rid himself of them entirely.

"That's enough," Arthur says, running his hand up Merlin's flank, scratching his thumbnail over Merlin's peaked nipple. "Rise up on your knees, love."

Arthur's warm touch is suddenly gone from Merlin's body, replaced by a rush of air that does nothing to cool Merlin's fevered skin. Settling his hands on the armrests of the throne, Merlin does as he was told, thighs straining as they take his weight. He holds the position as Arthur's hand moves between their bodies, breath hitching when the tip of Arthur's cock brushes against his hole. He doesn't let his gaze leave Arthur's for even a second, not even when the head of Arthur's cock breaches him, spreading him so wonderfully wide that Merlin's toes curl.

And then Arthur is wrapping his arms around Merlin, pressing down on his shoulders, not stopping until Merlin's taken his whole length and their hips are pressed together. When Merlin tries to rise, Arthur refuses to let him move, placing his hands on Merlin's hips to hold him down.

"Sit," Arthur says, burying his face in the crook of Merlin's neck, pressing his cheek right up against the collar. "Stay."

Merlin does, trembling. He leans his forehead against Arthur's shoulder and struggles to catch his breath, trying to patiently wait for the moment Arthur decides to finally allow him to move.

It takes far longer than he hoped, before Arthur relinquishes the tight grip he has on Merlin's hips, no doubt leaving behind bruises that will keep on Merlin's skin for days.

"Move," Arthur orders quietly, putting one hand in Merlin's hair and forcing his head back, baring his throat. Merlin rises up onto his knees, shivering when Arthur's cock brushes against his prostate, then slams back down. Arthur rewards him by sucking on that sensitive spot on Merlin's neck, high up enough that his collar won't be able to cover it, not that Merlin would ever want it to.

"Faster," Arthur murmurs against his neck, thrusting upwards.

After that, it's all a mess of movement and limbs, of pleasure taken and given, and all throughout, Merlin has to struggle not to touch himself, to wait patiently until Arthur decides to allow him release. He never once relinquishes his grip on the armrests, knowing that if he did, nothing would be able to hold him back from taking his pleasure into his own hands.

Merlin barely notices when Arthur finally releases inside his body, his hips slowly stuttering to a stop. His hands made their way back onto Merlin's hips, and he holds onto them fiercely, forcing Merlin to bring his own movements to a halt. Merlin whimpers when Arthur urges him up and off his lap, leaving him empty and wanting.

He's desperate with the need to come when Arthur helps Merlin settle down on the floor in between his legs.

"Please," he whispers, hiding his flushed face against Arthur's trousers. " _Please_."

"Please what?" Arthur asks cruelly, nudging the tip of his boot against Merlin's weeping cock.

" _Master_ ," Merlin says, trying to ignore how saying the word makes more heat rush to his cheeks. "Please let me come."

Arthur hums, staring down at Merlin from his place on the throne, looking every inch the sovereign. Merlin holds his breath as he waits for permission, hoping fervently that his plea won't be denied. He's been on his best behaviour all day— _surely_ , that deserves some kind of reward.

"All right," Arthur says, spreading his hands magnanimously. He slides one leg forward and tilts his head in its direction. "Go on then. Bring yourself off."

Merlin's eyes dart from Arthur's leg to his face and back; he doesn't think it's possible for his cheeks to be more red.

"Against…" he trails off uncertainly.

"Bring yourself off against my leg," Arthur says, tugging the leash in the direction he wants Merlin to go. "Unless you think you can do without."

A small part of Merlin wants to protest; a far, _far_ larger part of him longs to do as Arthur commands. Every muscle in Merlin's body is urging him to obey his master—and he does. Shuffling back on his knees, he presses his cock against Arthur's leg, and begins to rub it against the soft cloth of his trousers, the sensation both painful and pleasurable, just on the edge of being too much. Merlin whines, ducking his head to hide his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Arthur's cock twitch.

He's been on the edge for so long that it barely takes any time at all before he's coming, painting Arthur's trousers white with his come. Merlin lays his head on Arthur’s thigh, struggling to catch his breath.

"You did so well, Merlin," Arthur murmurs from above him, running his fingers over the nape of Merlin's neck. "Such a good boy for me."

Merlin hums softly. He sighs as his eyes slip shut, feeling more exhausted than he has in a long time. Arthur lets him stay like that for a while before urging him up, rubbing the blood back into Merlin’s sore limbs. He stands still as Arthur makes sure they're presentable, before wrapping a strong arm around his waist.

"Let's get you to bed," Arthur says, steering them both in the direction of the door. Merlin leans his head into the crook of Arthur’s neck and follows.


End file.
